


Not Much Used to Peace

by i_want_to_be_an_astronaut



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_want_to_be_an_astronaut/pseuds/i_want_to_be_an_astronaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was dissatisfied with the ending to Mass Effect 3 (weren't we all?). Even with the Happy Ending mod I still didn't find closure. This story will change that.<br/>This follows the events after the end of the Reaper War, specifically, Commander John Shepard and Jack aka Subject Zero. Chapter 1 serves to set up the rest of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Much Used to Peace

It was amazing how just a few words can change someone’s entire world, and how those same words could change the entire universe as well.  
“The Reapers are real!” “The Reapers are here!” “Normandy in orbit!” “Shepard’s inbound!”  
Sentences that changed people’s lives. Sentences that changed her life. Less than five words, but nothing was ever the same after the fact. The worst one was only 3 words long. Something she dreaded hearing day in and day out since they first met, since he’d first broken down the walls and loved her.  
“We’ve lost Shepard!” Three tiny words, and her world completely shattered. The Reaper War changed for Jack in that moment. No longer was it about survival, or securing an objective, capturing a hill or evacuating the civilians. It was about killing every last one of the fuckers. It became about personally executing them, making them pay for killing him.  
That plan didn’t work out as much as she wanted. She never got a chance to face a Reaper herself. Shepard must have lived long enough to fire the Crucible. Every Reaper went down, and their ground troops were left leaderless and disorganized. Mop up operations were swift and brutal. Every ounce of frustration from every soldier, no matter their rank or species was vented.  
And just two days after the Crucible fired, the united fleets moved to reclaim the Citadel. Every one of Shepard’s former squad mates was assembled and formed the vanguard. They broke through the outer defenses and touched down in an old C-Sec block. Teams of vorcha and krogan, Turian and Asari and human moved through the wards, wiping out every last vestige of resistance, all the while, coming across vast corpse piles tended to by Keepers.  
It’s amazing how so few words can change the world she thought. “WE’VE GOT A LIVE ONE” crackled across the communication net like lightning through a clear sky. It was followed by more, until finally, three more words. “SHEPARD IS ALIVE!”  
A cheer went up across the commnet, followed by frantic inquiries for more information. The mission was temporarily forgotten as squads of soldiers, human and alien, moved to link up with the ones who’d found him. Orders came down quick, desperate to keep the momentum building. Retaking the Citadel would be massive victory, and Shepard’s life wasn’t more important than ending the war. Like hell it is. The vanguard and insertion teams were bitter, desperate to see the living legend, still alive after all he’d been through. Jack tried not to believe it, lest it be a cruel trick of the universe.  
17 hours after the Citadel cleanup operation began, the last Husk was put down. 17 hours of fighting, blood, and fear later, the squad left to find him. They begged, borrowed, and outright stole transports to an Asari medical ship, the last publicly known location of Commander John Shepard. Standing orders directed them to a very frightened nurse who had to explain to 20 of the deadliest biotics, assassins, snipers, soldiers, mercenaries, and all round sons of bitches where their friend was and why they could see him.  
Three tiny words. It’s all I need to say to him.  
It was one week to the day after the Citadel cleanup that the squad got the message. They’d been placed on standby, debriefing units, writing reports, and devising tactics. One week to the day and they received a message from Hackett himself. “Shepard stable. Report to Citadel, Huerta Memorial.” In just a week the reclaimed Citadel was already being repaired. Huerta stood as the safest and best treatment facility for the injured.  
She was not listening. Ever since the Doctor said those three words when they walked into the reclaimed Citadel, to Huerta Memorial. 'Shepard is alive.' The Salarian droned on but Jack tuned it out, barely able to focus on anything. Words came and went without meaning. ‘His injuries, though extensive, are nowhere what one would expect for someone who has survived a direct attack from a Reaper, and a subsequent day and a half with exposed wounds.” Jack tried to focus, tried to pay attention, desperate for the all clear to go into his room and visit. ‘Minor brain swelling, concussive trauma to the internal organs, 3rd degree burns across-‘ Zaeed cut him. ‘WHEN CAN WE SEE HIM GODDAMMIT!? We don’t give a shit about his injuries, just let us see the bastard.’ The doctor was stunned momentarily before recovering. ‘He-he’s in surgery right now. We have to remove the armor that has been fused to his skin, prep him for possible skin grafts or organ transplants." There was a collective sigh of relief. "Optimistic estimates put his surgery finishing in 3 hours."

Three hours turned into 6, turned into 10. Some of them stayed in the hospital waiting room, others left, hoping to be kept busy by the drudgery of writing reports and debriefings. Garrus, Jack, Tali, Miranda, and Grunt fell asleep in their chairs, all the while as the universe kept spinning, the injured and dying being rushed in for triage. A doctor in messy scrubs wandered down the hall towards them, nudged them awake. They rubbed their eyes, bleary and eager for good news.

‘There was… a lot of armor fused to the skin, more than we predicted. Thankfully, most of it was confined to his chest and stomach. He’s stable now, and sleeping, He’s going to require skin grafts on his torso and hands in the near future, but he’s otherwise in exceptional health for a man who should be dead. His brain was never deprived of oxygen, and his organs, though initially they gave us a scare, are working as they should be… except for his lungs.’ No one spoke. They waited for the pin to drop. ‘His right lung was collapsed and his left was working at 50% capacity. He’s been put on a respirator for now, to take some of the load off and allow him an easier recovery. Given all of his injuries, I have every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery. He just needs time now.’ The doctor stood there for a few seconds, expecting them to thank him profusely.  
They stood there numb. Against the odds, he’d survived certain death, again. Jack started crying. Wracking sobs that shook her body. Garrus and Miranda moved to hold her. Tali shooed the doctor away. She didn’t even care that the cheerleader bitch was touching her. He was alive, and the doctor said he was going to be okay! Grunt sat down on the floor, head in his hands. ‘I’M SO HAPPY!’ was all he could manage before crying as well.  
Jack cried into Miranda's shoulder, great, wracking sobs.

In another hour they were allowed to go into his room and visit. There was a gentle wheezing from the respirator. John was covered in bandages, his exposed skin bruised purple and blue. Jack made her way to him, unaware fo the others holding back, giving her priority. She knelt on the right side of his bed, gently taking his hand. His chest rose and fell steadily. She took deep breathes, trying to steady herself. Jack leaned up to his ear, kissed his cheek.  
"I love you. And when you wake up your going to say the same thing to me. I love you." She whispered. Jack kissed him one more time. She stood and walked backwards, trying to maintain her composure. The others patted her back as she left the room. When they were all inside, and she was in the hall, Jack ran to the bathroom. She slammed the door shut, ran to the sink, and vomited. She cried again, tears of fear and anxiety. She trudged back and forth in the room, unable to calm her breathing. The doctor had said he only needed time to recover now but she couldn't handle it. Jack screamed, an ear shattering scream backed by biotic vocals. Everyone of the mirrors shattered, the sinks cracked and the tiles shifted.

How much time until he was better?


End file.
